Harry Potter and the Rise of the Grey Lord
by Great King of Evil
Summary: Elder Brother!Ravenclaw!Harry. Harry was born 2 years ahead of canon, his younger brother becoming the Boy-Who-Lived. Without fame or expectations, Harry grows up taking a neutral approach to magic and politics, on his way to becoming a Grey Lord.
1. Prologue

**Just a note, dates in the storyline are moved a decade ahead, so what took place in 1981 in canon takes place in 1991 here.**

**-Break-**

Some wizards say that blood runs true in a family. Muggle scientists also talk about traits skipping a generation. If that is the case, then perhaps it is ironic that while my parents were both hard core Gryffindors, supporters of the "Light", I took more after my paternal grandparents, Charlus Potter and Dorea Black: spouses who took interest in that grey area between the Dark Arts and Light Arts. They had died shortly after I was done from magical illness, and while little personal effects remained in the Potter household, they had left behind their own personal diaries. My father, James, never went into his parents' old bedroom – it was only by an accident I stumbled into the room when I was five, and out of curiosity took to reading the journals.

Of course, at the time, I had to hide my interest in the 'neutral' magic that the Grey Arts offered. In the dusk of the twentieth century, Wizarding Britain had become fervently anti-Dark, such that one of the family friends had to turn to the Muggle world for employment because he was a 'Dark creature'. Additionally, there was also the part I played in the fabric of society to consider, as I was very closely related to a 'hero' of the Light.

Back in 1990, you see, there was this prophecy made about my younger brother. Apparently the person who made the prophecy was an utter whack, but one of the people who the prophecy was about decided that it must be true. Unfortunately, that man was a megalomaniac, who had gathered around him a retinue of like-minded men, with the intention of purging 'bad blood' from the world: muggles and the weaker muggleborns. His reign of terror had been out in the open for nearly a half a decade, and the build-up to war had been going on for over two decades before that.

The specifics were known only to a few people at the time, but the megalomaniac was finally defeated for the first time when he fell prey to a vicious, ruthless Russian roulette of a gambit. Later, I would learn that another family friend had been masquerading as an ally for over a year, while in reality he served the megalomaniac, who preferred to be known as the Dark Lord Voldemort. The family friend had finally been disgusted with his situation, having been coerced by force into becoming a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's loyal followers, but otherwise staying with the madman. When he had finally decided to become a turncoat and make his return to the Light was when the gambit was devised. It had worked, but even that had consequences, and Voldemort was not killed, but merely exorcised from his body. Ironic, really, that the one time Dumbledore did not try to take the most passive action possible, the war ended.

However, even though Voldemort had fallen into the trap, he was no fool. The prophecy had named that only one of two boys could 'kill' him, and he decided that if Matt should die before he did, it was no problem. Even though he had been set upon in a four-on-one duel, he was able to think fast enough to cast a spell at the one-year-old Matthew.

In the wizarding world, there are thousands of spells in the public domain, not counting those made by families or individuals and kept secret. I have come up with more than a few of those in my own time, after all, and I know just how powerful magic can be when bent to a specific purpose. Many of these spells are designed to kill: to sever through a body with the sharpness of a guillotine, to cook one's organs from the inside out, or even shoot a hole through a body much like a bullet from muggle weaponry. However, even with the hundreds of spells that can deal harm, there is only one that is capable of making a clean kill, with absolutely no evidence left behind to identify it but for the lack of any other spell that can do the same.

That spell is known as the Killing Curse, _Avada Kedavra_, two words that over time have mutated into the first two of three words of a silly incantation that muggles often use when they describe their ideas of a fantastical form of magic, _abracadabraalakazam_. Over the years, I have performed my own research on the spell, and came to an astonishing conclusion: the Killing Curse has two different forms to it.

Back in the early era of mankind, when a select few found they had a special power, they were more concerned with how best to use this power to survive, as opposed to killing other members of the human species. Their instinctual desire to kill manifested itself in a wordless form of emerald green light that killed instantly, stopping predators from killing them first, and being able to hunt prey more easily.

When man evolved and became more spread out, however, things changed, and soon a vocal command was needed for the Killing Curse. Man began fighting man for territory and woman, and men and sentient magical creatures began to encounter each other. There was a difference in the intent to kill then: before, man had killed, yes, but it had killed non-sentient life forms. Knowing that the person or creature you were about to kill was able to _think_ and _rationalise_, that was different. The magic would not respond as well, and so man was forced to twist his emotions to perform a successful _Avada Kedavra_, or else the spell would fall short of its intended effect.

Tit for tat, man had an ugly coming-of-age, and now the Killing Curse was only used to kill other sapient beings. The few occasions where somebody used one against a non-thinking being, they were unaware of how much easier the magic flowed for them, harkening back to the early days of the curse.

However, if someone had sufficiently twisted their soul enough, they could kill anything, outside of certain magical creatures that either had highly magically-resistant skin, or creatures that had special properties, such as a phoenix in a death and rebirth cycle. Lord Voldemort was one of those men. He succeeded every time he used the Killing Curse, up until that fateful night, Halloween of 1991.

Even the old man Dumbledore was not truly sure of what protected Matthew from the spell, but I would later find out that it was a piece of old magic that had bounced the Killing Curse off of Matthew, ripping Voldemort's soul from his vessel. If Voldemort had been a user of the Darkest of spells and rituals, then it would only be fitting for him to be felled by the Lightest of ye olde magicks.

Of course, it was only a temporary victory, though it would bring peace for nearly a decade and a half. Then Lord Voldemort returned from the dead, his soul having been anchored to this earth by several Horcruxes. Even though I had not yet graduated at that time, even though the expectations of Wizarding Britain fell upon my brother's shoulders, I still helped in my own way.

But you see, that is where my troubles came in. My brother had, at the age of one, 'defeated' the Dark Lord. He was a symbol of the 'Light', with a fanatical devotion to his name and legend. It scared him for many years to see the sort of fervor people had with their faith and trust in him. It's a good thing the purebloods and most magically-raised halfbloods in Britain adhered to Earthly religions, or else the coincidence of his sharing the name of one of the four authors of the Gospels might have driven him crazy.

And that was precisely the problem: anything that was not totally light was said to be Dark, with little understanding for just what it truly was. It was only a short step from a temporary petrification spell to the three Unforgivables in their mind, and any open practitioner of the Dark Arts was heavily persecuted, again, never mind the 'Dark Creatures'.

As a result, I had to hide my skills for quite some time, up until shortly before I hit the age of majority. When I finally made my power known to the world, it was with the backings of allies, friends, like-minded people who also appreciated the full spectrum of magic instead of being polarised by the false notion of black and white. We were six in the beginning, true, but we managed to disrupt the game of war in such a way that nobody could deny the entry of a new faction into the war. It was there that I would finally rise to true greatness.

My name is Harry James Potter. History originally saw fit to mention me in the footnotes as the elder brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, Matthew Potter, but as I rose in prominence in the Wizarding World, our roles reversed in that matter. This is my life story, about my ascension to becoming a Grey Lord.

**-Break-**

**So as you can see, a few AU changes already. Harry is two years older, taking the place of the elder brother to the Boy Who Lived. This is NOT, I repeat, NOT a Wrong Boy Who Lived story. Additionally, you will see in a while that the events of Halloween of 1991 took place differently than in 1981 in canon. Harry is, of course, being rather vague in the events here, but a few of you might be able to pick up a general idea.**

**Yes, following chapters should be significantly longer.**


	2. Chapter 1

_Our family has a rich history, beginning nearly a thousand years ago as a group of immigrants, the Poteur family, came over from France. One of our earliest ancestors managed to curry favour with the then-Headmaster of Hogwarts, Geoffrey Gryffindor, the great-great-great-grandson of Godric Gryffindor, and eventually managed to build on the favour, gathering enough influence and wealth over the next two centuries to become a noble family in 1422._

_There are many individual members from our family, such as Thomas Potter, Minister of Magic from 1607-1622, responsible for reaching accords with the Scottish and Irish wizards, Jack Potter, who was Ignatia Wildsmith's assistant in the experiments that created many inventions, including Floo powder, and Edward Potter, who led the British Auror squad that slew the only Manticore to ever set foot on British soil, in the late 18__th__ century._

_However, perhaps the most influential and powerful wizard to ever hail from our family was Harold James Potter, who would overshadow Matthew Charlus Potter, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. In his many years, he would gain several titles, some more grand than the last, others so farfetched he would laugh at how ridiculous they were; the Emperor; the King of Snakes; the Prince of Ravens; the Grey Lord; and many more. To me, however, he was known as my elder brother, Harry._

-Rose Potter, _The Potter Family History_

I was the eldest of four, having been born in 1988. In my more egotistical moments, I like to think that my birth was heralded by a once-in-a-century thunderstorm, but in truth I was merely born in the early morning, the only thing 'signalling' my arrival being a rainstorm the night beforehand. It was better that way, at least I built my reputation and power using my own two hands instead of having it given to me, whether by mortal men or by destiny. Heh, it always amuses me to remember how I threw a wrench into the workings of that underling of destiny, prophecy. Silly Dumbledore. While the Headmaster was a wise man, he was also an old man, and if there was one thing old man were, it was being inflexible when it came to their wisdom. Case in point, the Prophecy.

But I digress. Matthew was the next in the family, coming in 1990, exactly two years after the day to my birth date. After Voldemort's first defeat, my mother and father tried for another child, and my only sister, Rose Potter, following the Evans tradition of naming daughters after flowers, came around in early July of 1992. Three years later, Michael joined the family, breaking the July streak by being born in October of 1995.

Those were happy days before I left to Hogwarts for the first time. As siblings, we had our tussles sometimes, but overall, we were fairly close. This was before any of us knew that Voldemort had survived his attempt to kill Matthew, and before a new era of dark times cast a shadow on Britain. Through thick and thin, I performed many responsibilities in my role as elder brother.

There has been an unwritten expectation for thousands of years that the eldest-born son would be the one who would be _great_, while any male children that followed would be left in his shadow. For the Potter family, that all changed one late October night. Ironic that the Dark Lord fell on Samhain, when the Dark was supposedly at its strongest. While my mother and father tried their best to give us all equal amounts of attention, the expectations of the public shifted, as they saw Matthew as their saviour. I was merely someone who was related to Matthew by circumstance. Doubtlessly they barely knew I existed, automatically assuming Matthew to be Potter heir. I saw some of those ruddy 'history' books that were written. A couple of the more reputable ones came close, but many of them were lies, and none of them mentioned Matthew's three siblings.

The Germans have a word for the situation that would occur in later years: Schadenfreude, the derivation of pleasure from the misfortune of others, in this case the misfortune of those who had pinned their hopes on one person and were caught unawares by the elder brother, losing influence and political capital in the process. "Wer wagt, gewinnt" – Who dares, wins.

-Break-

Rays of light filtered through the cracks of the blinds, illuminating the bedroom in the early morning sun, a calm breeze coming through the open window occasionally shifting the blinds. Outside, the nocturnal wildlife having already gone to sleep, the diurnal half of nature had begun to wake up, the chirping birds ringing in the passage of dawn. Morning dew permeated the air, giving off the light smell of humidity.

Slowly, the black-haired boy lying in the bed opened one eye, lazily, not quite willing to get up just yet. Looking at his clock, he observed that it was shortly after seven in the morning, the sun having risen nearly two hours ago. By now, his mother should be getting up to perform her daily deeds as a housewife before going off to work on some paperwork, if his baby brother had not already woke her up beforehand.

There was something more important than the time of day, however. He continued turning his head around, looking at the calendar. July 31st, his birthday. Today, he was now nine years of age. Of course, that was a mere formality, having had his 'party' two weeks back.

For the first few years of his life, his birthday was originally celebrated on this day. However, as his brother Matthew Potter had been born exactly two years later on this same day, Harry's own birthday celebration had been pushed back to the middle of July, something even more important now that his sister Rose had her birthday in early July. He expected the situation to reverse when he came of the age of majority, however. No tradition would prevent a person from being able to celebrate his day of maturity on that exact date.

Even still, today would be fairly quiet. Words would be exchanged, a few family friends **might** show up with their own children in tow (given the work load of his parents, his father in particular that might not be the case this time around, as it had not been for his birthday a few weeks ago), presents would be given to the boy of honor, and that would be that. They certainly could not go out, lest they be mobbed by 'fans'. Never mind that, again, his parents had been busy as of late.

Thirty days ago, the mundane government of the United Kingdom had handed back the reigns of the island of Hong Kong back to mundane China, forfeiting their sovereignty as per a 99-year agreement. The agreement had been replicated on the magical side, and so the bureaucracy that was the Ministry of Magic had been very busy since. It was worse, since at least mundane governments were not so entrenched in red tape and bureaucracy. Even though his father had been an Auror, a member of the Wizarding 'police force', supposedly far removed from the actual politics of the day, he had still has his hands full. Not to mention that James Potter still had his duties as the head of House Potter to fulfill in the Wizengamot. He could skip out on them, or assign a proxy of course, but the political battlefield was not something you could sidestep. Especially not when one of your sons was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lily Potter nee Evans, Harry's mother, originally had been an junior Unspeakable, an employee of the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, when she had graduated from Hogwarts. She had to temporarily quit her job once she became pregnant with him (working around the artifacts the Unspeakables examined was dangerous enough, but there was always the possibility of gruesome side-effects on a developing fetus), which had turned into a permanent resignation once she and James had to go into hiding from Lord Voldemort.

She was far less busy than her husband currently was, but she had four children in the household to take care of, one who was less than two years old. On top of that, though she no longer worked in a professional job, she still did magical research in her free time, focusing mainly on Charms, and to a lesser degree on Potions. Additionally, she helped with much of her husband's estate paperwork, which as of late had grown tremendously as James Potter was busy with his job work.

That he had even that tenuous a grasp on the livelihoods of his parents satisfied Harry to no end. "Scientia potentia est", the Latins would say, "For also knowledge itself is power", nowadays commonly paraphrased as 'Knowledge is power'. Harry's grandfather Charlus had known this, and he had bequeathed the entirety of his book collection to his son, James Potter, in the hopes of the boy using the wealth of information present.

His father, Harry knew, used the library quite a lot, but mainly for Transfiguration purposes and Charms, often in fits of motivation inspired by his joking manner and quenchless thirst for pranking. His mother used it for Charms and for Potions. Neither had ever really perused the private accounts and diaries left behind by Charlus Potter and Dorea Black.

To be sure, much of what the couple had written was useless to him, the accountings of their daily lives as they grew up and went to Hogwarts, true diary material. Well, the Hogwarts stuff might have useful details, but he dared not read them. Call it a weakness, but Harry felt it would ruin the experience of going to Hogwarts if he were to read the personal thoughts of his grandmother and grandfather as they first went to Hogwarts, their first days there, and their growing up at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Instead, he read everything else the two left behind. Dorea had left behind a pair of great tomes behind that she had written in her twilight years, an introspection on her years and an accounting of all the magical knowledge she had gained over the years, while Charlus had left behind hundreds of documents pertaining to his theories on the nature of magic.

It frustrated Harry to no end that much of what he read went over his head. Charlus had in some ways been a genius, and in others a madman. In the writings that Harry could understand the technical basis behind, the leaps of logic Charlus made were often confounding, and Harry had found himself abridging the work Charlus had done, completing the links between notations. Other items were ridiculously detailed, such as Charlus' work on the tenets of wandless magic. Using the guidelines and practices Charlus had ascribed to controlling one's magical core to cast a spell without the use of a foci, most commonly a wand, Harry had managed to gain a modicum of success, but he hungered for more. He wanted to be great. At the same time, Charlus had noted why it would be politically fatal to try making Wandless Magic widely taught in jolly old England, a lengthy diatribe of history and incidents that made Harry wary enough to vow not to display what he felt were great feats out in the open.

Yawning, the boy threw off his blankets, and turned around, bringing his legs off the bed. He let out a short chuckle, glad that he no longer had to wear glasses. A year ago, mundane scientists had invented an optical surgery known as LASEK to correct eyesight. Subsequently, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, one of the few Ministry Departments unafraid of studying mundane technology (they had to, at the rate guns and other advanced weaponry had proliferated throughout the last few centuries), had taken a look at the procedure. It was only a few short months later that any Aurors with eyesight problems not reparable by magical means were ordered to undergo the surgery.

His father, marvelling at the improvement in his own eyesight, had gotten Harry in as well after making sure the surgery was safe for children. Although his line of sight was still not perfect, enchanted contacts would help in the rare few situations he would need to see long distances (such as Quidditch). He could only hope that annoying unconscious habit of grabbing for his glasses once waking up would fade away soon.

But more importantly, LASEK had affected his view on life. Even though he had just turned nine, Harry had always been full of ideas of what he had wanted to be when he grew up. At first, he had been full of paternal worship, wanting to become an Auror just like his father was. However, after the two had gotten in for that new procedure, Harry had shifted his focus, having seen firsthand what mundane cutting-edge technology now had to offer. It only felt right to be calling them mundane instead of Muggles. Muggle was a demeaning term. Using the term 'mundane' implied that the non-magical society had their own uses.

And they had, as evidenced by his eyesight. So he had decided that he would combine Mundane technology and Magic to benefit all. Of course, there was that pesky Statue of Secrecy adopted by the ICW that would prevent any such invention he might come up with from going back into the Muggle world, but he would find a way to work around it. That was, should he actually follow that path instead of falling off and going down another road. But for now he was still on this street, the next crossroad in his life nowhere in metaphorical sight.

To that end, Harry had focused most strongly on Charms, as he understood them to be the most versatile of the disciplines of magic, capable of warding, animating, enchanting, and so much more. It had been rather easy to obtain Miranda Goshawk's full collection _The Standard Book of Spells_, a seven-set of books that covered most of the spells taught at Hogwarts: they were, after all, in the Potter library.

The books only covered the broad base of what was expected to be learned at Hogwarts, however, even if his mother often praised Professor Flitwick as being the best teacher she had ever had. That was, Harry remarked to himself, where the rest of the Potter library came in handy, as he walked out the door, intent on grabbing a shower for himself.

A long, satisfying hot shower later, he left, having donned the pyjamas he had worn overnight once more. Bless her heart, but his mother had acquiesced to her husband's requests to keep their four children out of the mundane school system altogether, even if he agreed they needed some interaction with non-magical beings. Lily Potter had instead done her best to teach Harry about mathematics and science, the importance of writing a good essay, and the wonders of literature. And it was her lack of real time for herself lately that let him be able to go around the house in his pyjamas, all day, most every day. He liked his nightwear; it was far more comfortable than jeans and a shirt, dress robes, or the more archaic dresses many still wore.

In a dry self-reflection, Harry thought that his mother would be able to skim through the proceedings with her third child, as he arrived in the library. Although he had made the large, neatly organised library into his den, he did not have a complete monopoly on it of the four siblings. As he picked out a book that had been written by a Canadian Charms Master, on the uses of household charms (looking something he could perhaps use wandlessly to get out of housework later) he chanced a look at the watch he wore around his wrist. The time clear in his mind, he gave an amused estimate at how long it would take for his sister to barge in.

Forty minutes later, he was unsurprised to hear the door open, followed by a loud "HARRY!" Sighing in exasperation, he snapped his fingers, a signal to the household's few House Elves to start prepping the standard breakfast the two had every day and deliver it up to the library.

Much like earlier in the morning, he had to force his hand down before it went through the motion of pushing up glasses on his nose that were no longer there, before turning to face the entrance to the great chamber.

His sister was only five, but he could already tell that he would have to play the role of the protective older brother who fought off miscreants when she grew up to become a near-clone of her mother. She had never gotten a full haircut in her life outside of a trim, so her bright-red hair was already down to her back. Only her facial structure would have prevented Rose from being mistaken for a younger Lily Potter, akin to how only his green eyes would have stopped Harry from being mistaken for a younger version of James (in fact, only Michael took after their father in his eyes). Harry looked closer, and saw her green eyes were sparkling with a mischievous glint, no doubt looking forward to another day of bugging 'big brother' in his domain. Of course, she was likely to become Ravenclaw more than anything else, just like him.

After all, Matthew's status as the Boy-Who-Lived had prevented him from being completely shaped by Harry, so he instead focused on the sibling who had a big brother worship.

"Hello, Rose," Harry said in a cheerful tone of voice. "What can I do for you today?"

"Harry!" Rose wailed while turning on as much charm as she could, focused mainly on making her eyes look akin to a fawn's, "You promised to read to me today!"

Harry sighed, before looking through the stack of books on the table he was at. "Yes, yes, I did that, didn't I?" Humming to himself, he finally found what he was looking for, as he picked out a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Though it cut into his personal study time, Rose was family, and if there was one thing his parents had drilled into him, family was everything. As the eldest sibling, it was his self-proclaimed duty to watch out for his only sister and two brothers.

-Break-

An hour later, his sister already asleep again on one of the couches in the library (she also kept wearing pyjamas even during the day, so there was no loss of comfort there after Harry had quickly thrown a blanket over her and a pillow in her hands), Harry was furiously shuffling through the books that had been on the table, looking for the one title that he had been intent on reading through sometimes within the week. With glee, he finally found what he had been searching for, _Occlumency: How to Protect Your Mind_, with no listed author.

Occlumency was a field of magic in which one could organise the contents of their mind, allowing them to call up pieces of knowledge as required, and granting a better memory and sharper mind. In a sense, it was much like meditation, but with an internal aspect that only those who could wield magic could go work with. One of the main effects of Occlumency was that with practice, it also allowed one to defend from Legillimency, a field of magic akin to the idea of mind-reading. While Harry guessed that later on in his life he would need to learn to defend against Legillimency (the idea of reading minds was too powerful for it not to be abused by others), for now he was satisfied with using Occlumency for all the mental benefits it offered.

Knowledge was power, but retaining that knowledge was even more important.

-Break-

Making his way out of the library, leaving his snoozing sister behind (all the while wishing he had on a cloak, because cloaks were cool and then he could 'stride' and you totally needed a cloak or a cape to stride, and maybe even make it billow behind you), Harry decided to make his next destination the family's commons room. Even if he did dote on his little sister, there was still a little brother he had yet to encounter today.

Little surprise was it for Harry to come up on Matthew playing on a video game console, clad in his green nightwear. Although the Potter household in Godric's Hollow was saturated with magic, it was still possible to get electricity. It was only in areas with large amounts of magic and magical build-up from the presence of many mages, such as schools and workplaces, that magic and electricity simply would not work together.

Waiting for Matt to get into an area where he wouldn't 'die' in the game universe, Harry instantly ambushed him from behind, giving his little brother a noogie. As Matt protested at the sudden burning sensation on his scalp, shaking his body with a large amount of strength to ward off the invading hand, Harry backed off. "Happy birthday, twerp."

"Argh, Harry!" Matt said, turning around in his chair, slightly thankful he hadn't been attacked in the middle of a big battle or anything. "What was that for?" What Harry had said to him finally got to him, and he mumbled, "Happy Birthday to you too, I guess."

"Durr," Harry said mockingly. He looked closely at Matt. The Boy-Who-Lived was much like himself in appearance, taking after his father in appearance in nearly everything but for his emerald eyes. But there were differences. The biggest was the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, which had been given to him by Lord Voldemort, but others included less messier hair, a stronger chin, and a smaller nose. Harry pondered over those minor differences as he watched Matt turn his attention back to the TV screen. "I'm guessing dad wasn't home last night, but did our dear mother come home?" Matt was the one who was closest to the fireplace. Given that phones wouldn't work in the Ministry, where James Potter's office was located, Floo was the only form of instant communication that could work between the Ministry and the Potter manor.

"No," Matt grumbled, adding a few choice words to the Ministry that Harry didn't bother to pick up on. Of course, he doubted Matt would know any sort of vile language, but it was the intent that counted. "That whole Hong Kong business has been a big mess, so mom's still running secretary for him. She said last night that they would both try to be home tonight, but no guarantees."

"Hmmm...I see, alright then." Harry rose up from the leaning position he had fallen into, observing Matt's playing through his video game. "If you need me, you know where I will be at." It felt uncomfortable sometimes, cutting conversations short like this, but he was hardly estranged from his brother. The two often spoke for hours at a time. Perhaps it was just the date that made it so hard today.

"In the library," Matt rolled his eyes, used to his older brother's habits.

"Now, now, Matthew," Harry said, walking around and flicking his brother on the forehead. "Studying is good for you, you get more value out of your time than if you're playing video games."

"Yeah, but books aren't as much fun," came the sarcastic response.

Harry shrugged to himself, and decided to leave the conversation at that. He knew that his brother felt a constant pressure from being the Boy-Who-Lived, as if he had to train every waking second to fight off any new Dark Lords that might rise in the wake of Voldemort's fall, so he could hardly begrudge Matthew for playing some video games, even if he preferred books himself. Many in Britain adored the public image of Matthew, and it had taken a large amount of effort by his parents to prevent the manufacture of Matthew Potter merchanise (inwardly, he shuddered – nothing would be quite as disturbing as seeing the prototype for an animated fan doll of his brother). That was a large amount of undue strain on Matthew, and Harry felt he should be free to do anything he had to in order to relieve the stress.

But for now, he had more books to read.

-Break-

To Harry's pleasant surprise, both his parents managed to make it home, baby Michael in tow from whatever baby sitter they had. Lily's dishevelled hair and the bags under James' eyes belied their fatique, if their haggard expressions were not enough. However, husband and wife were both in good spirits, and they quickly called the elder three children down to the commons room, James using the wards that allowed him to search out and communicate with any person in the residence.

"Happy birthday, boys!" Lily said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't quite as much as it had been years prior, though the work she had been doing over the past month was to blame for that. "We already had your birthday earlier this month, Harry," she started with her rush job of what was going to happen, "And as you know we've been so busy lately we haven't had much time for socialising." There was a bit of a regretful tone in her voice. "Even Sirius is busy, so he can't come over tonight either. It's just going to be the six of us and the house-elves tonight."

"Of course, mother," Harry said, nodding his head, Rose and Matthew making similar exits out of the conversation. Idly, the raven-haired boy wondered if he would soon be trained in the ways of the aristocrat, now that he was nine. He might 'only' be a half-blood, but he was still the heir to the Potter family, who _did_ hold a Wizengamot seat. Besides, with a couple of the Ministry reforms in the last few years (at least, the ones that his father had mentioned over dinner conversation), his half-blood status wouldn't be quite the white elephant in the room as it might have been a decade ago.

-Break-

Dinner that night was indeed a quiet affair, but even more than what Harry had imagined it would be like. He had not expected James and Lily Potter to speak only a few lines to Harry, Matt and Rose, mostly wishes of good will and slight curiosity about what they had done during the day.

And yet, Harry thought, as he cut off a piece of roast, before soaking it in his gravy, this was home. This was his family. New members would no doubt be introduced in one day, whether through yet another sibling, or through spouses, but _this was family_. Nothing else gave him quite the same feeling of comfort and warmth, not his books, not his bed, nothing. There was no Boy-Who-Lived label here that no doubt would separate Matthew from the rest of them out in the real world, there was no drama.

It was a silent pledge he made, but he swore that no matter what, family would come first, forever and always. He would do whatever it took to keep his family, and later his friends together.

**-Break-**

**So I brought in a little bit of real life history here. On July 1****st****, 1997, the United Kingdom turned Hong Kong over to China, after having been under British control per a 99-year deal. The first LASEK surgery was performed in 1996 in Massachusetts.**

**I tried to do a bit of character development in this chapter, and struggled overall outside of Harry. You get a nice amount of background on the rest of the Potter family, but it'll be over the next few chapters you'll see them more in person.**

**Something I failed to mention in my notes from last chapter was the issue of Harry's grandparents. People have assumed that Charlus Potter and Dorea Black were James Potter's parents, but while there is a little bit of evidence for and again, nothing concrete. That said, I didn't particularly feel like going about creating new people out of nowhere. Also, like the first few lines of the prologue mentioned, Harry feels it to be in his blood that he became Grey, so at least one of his grandparents had to come from a Dark family.**

**And as you might see, there's a bit of an interesting narrative set-up that should remain the same for each chapter. An excerpt from a book, a bit of first-person introspection from present-day (in the future) Harry, and then a third-person narrative of his growing up, the last of which will basically always be the longest.**

**It should be noted that there will also be several OCs in the story, given how I've set Harry up to be two years ahead of the canon, though I will do my best to make them distinguishable.**

**There will be more AU elements, a few minor, a few major. Something that I've found incredibly obnoxious sometimes in 'Other BWL' fics are how James and Lily reproduce like rabbits and have like six or seven kids. Here, I kept it down to four, and one of those new elements will give a bit of background as to why there are more than two.**


End file.
